


Long Live the King

by TheComposer



Category: Toriko (Anime & Manga)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2018-01-01 05:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1040879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheComposer/pseuds/TheComposer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zebra wishes Komatsu a happy birthday and spends some time reminiscing with him. AU, takes place far in the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Live the King

**Author's Note:**

> This has made someone who doesn't even watch Toriko cry. Consider yourself warned!

 “Hey, kid.”   
  
Zebra’s sentence was punctuated with a groan rather than a growl as he settled himself on the bench; the weather was warming up now, but the storms that still swept through made his bones ache as if all the injuries he’d sustained in youth were finally catching up with him. He aimed a brief scowl at the sky, then eased himself into a more comfortable position, arm draped around the back of the bench the two containers of soup he brought sitting next to him.  
  
“Yer grandson’s gotten really fuckin’ cocky since you let him take over your restaurant for you, y’know,” he pointed out with a grumble, prying the lid off his own container of soup. “Says his Century Soup is just as good as his _grandpa’s_ ,” he added with a snort of derisive laughter. He sipped at the soup anyway, and fought valiantly against the smile that tried to pull the untorn side of his mouth up. He let out a long, heavy sigh, leaning back a little and looking up at the trees. Most of them had new buds on them, some beginning to unfurl into leaves.  
  
“He’s a lot like you, though. Cocky as hell, but…he’s a good kid. Looks like you, too. Little taller, though,” he continued, cradling his cup in one hand, watching the aura playing around the top of it. He smirked, looking off the side. “ ‘Course, it’d be hard for ‘im to be smaller, eh?” He laughed briefly, then passed one hand over his face, fingertips rubbing over the stitches in his cheek, feeling the familiar lines of thin thread there. “I keep this sewn up for you, y’know. At least, every time I go to see yer grandson or you. It’s a real pain in the ass…why’d you even come up with such a stupid condition?”  He paused, then laughed and shook his head. “Fuckin’ kid.”   
  
He took another sip of the soup. He would have gulped it all down in one go, but lingering over it gave him a reason to sit and talk for longer. Or, he allowed grudgingly, to just sit and enjoy the silence. It could be nice, now and then, though he’d never admit it to any of his brothers. Toriko would joke that age had rode him tame, and then he’d never hear the end of it no matter how ferocious a beating he gave his pain-in-the-ass blue-haired menace of a brother. Of course, Toriko’s hair was more gray than blue, now; he scratched absently at the silver hair at his own temples, then let his hand fall heavily against the back of the bench again as he stretched his arm out.  
  
“Yer restaurant’s in good hands, y’know. With that cocky son of…”he paused, then actually reconsidered his word choice. “…gun. You and Nono…you raised a damn good family.” He swirled his soup in the cup, then finally finished it to hide the little catch that had appeared in his breathing. Komatsu couldn’t hear it of course—the kid was deaf as a post, after all, at least when compared with Zebra—but it didn’t hurt to be careful. He snorted at that line of thought, trying to grimace and feeling the soup drag his mouth into a smile anyway.  “I’m…glad you let me be a part of that. Don’t get cocky—“ and he blurted that out automatically by now, without even really considering what he was saying, “—don’t get fuckin’ cocky, but I think…maybe some of the best times of my life were spent in that restaurant of yours, once things quieted down. Watchin’ the kids grow up. Eatin’ your cooking. Hell, even being around Toriko and the other two…it was nice. “  
  
He paused, then scowled heavily, crushing the plastic cup in his hand.  
  
“You tell anyone else I said that, and I’ll fuckin’ kill ya, kid,” he growled out, but his face softened a moment later as he waved a hand dismissively. “Nah, I know you wouldn’t. You’re good at keepin’ secrets.” He took a slow breath in, feeling an ache settle into his chest that had nothing to do with the weather or his age. “Too fuckin’ good at it. If you’d said something sooner, I would have…I could have…” His hands flexed and clenched uselessly at his sides; for once, all his strength was utterly uselessly, and it made restless anger thrash in his chest. It drained from him a moment later, and he dropped the mangled cup his soup had been in by his feet as he slumped back against the bench.  
  
“Yeah, I know, I know. Nothin’ I could have…nothin’ any of us could have done, huh? Lotta cures in that Life place…but nothin’ that cures old age. And yer so goddamn stubborn…never did want those gourmet cells. And then Nono didn’t want ‘em either, and no way in hell would you accept ‘em without her doin’ the same. Guess I shoulda seen that coming.” He chuckled, but the sound was far too bitter to be a real laugh and he scrubbed one hand across his face, falling silent.   
  
“Like I said though, you don’t need to worry. The restaurant’s doin’ fine. Yer grandson’s makin’ money hand over fist, and he still acts just like you. Too fuckin’ nice to everyone, y’know?” he said, with another little snort, not quiet derisive. “He still calls me uncle. You taught him that, didn’t you? Still remember when he came toddlin’ up to me the first time…he was only knee high to a grasshopper, and everyone else was backin’ away from me…and latched on to my ankle like it was the most normal fuckin’ thing. No mistaking that kid for part of your family. “  
  
He chuckled at the memory, falling silent for a moment and squinting up at the sky, watching the clouds that were beginning to roll in. One of them drifted across the sun, casting him and the bench he sat on in shadow; the temperature dropped, but the cold he felt had nothing to do with the shade or the wind. He kicked the crumpled soup cup with the toe of one foot, then sighed as he leaned forward, preparing to stand up.  
  
“I just…I fuckin’ miss you kid, all right? Don’t get cocky!“ his voice wavered just slightly, not even enough that anyone else would have been able to hear it, and he took a moment to compose himself before he stood, picking up the still sealed cup of soup he’d brought for Komatsu and taking the few steps necessary off to the side to set it in the appropriate spot. He brushed his fingers along the weathered stone, feeling the deeply engraved lines that marked out Komatsu’s name and trying to swallow the ache in his throat.   
  
“This stupid, cocky world doesn’t need…people like me the other three idiots. Not anymore. It needs people like you. Like your damn cocky grandson. I’m fuckin’ sick of it, y’know? Getting restless, without much left to do.” He paused for a moment, then smiled, just a little. “I know you’re probably…fuckin’…cooking, wherever you are. Just…set a place for me this year, all right? Maybe I’ll see ya there before this time next March.” He squinted into the distance, huffing out a long, heavy sigh. “Maybe we all will. It ain’t the same without you, kid.” He paused, then took in an unsteady, shallow breath. “We aren’t the same without you.”  
  
He gripped the stone for a moment, feeling the full weight of his years for a moment as he slumped forward. He shook the feeling away after a moment, straightening up at the thought of Komatsu’s great-grandson—the one who Komatsu had thought showed real promise, the one who still flung himself across the restaurant and into Zebra’s arms with a cheerful cry of ‘uncle!’ every time he came in—waiting for him to return. He’d promised to stop in once more before he headed out for home, and despite all the cursing and complaining he did, he didn’t want to disappoint the not-quite-so-little chef.  
  
With that thought in mind and a final gentle pat on the headstone, Zebra set off for the restaurant again. The clouds finally blew away from the surface of the sun as he walked, allowing the warm light to beat down on his back once again. The cold knot in his chest eased slightly, and he caught himself glancing briefly back over his shoulder.  
  
“Happy birthday, kid.”


End file.
